


How to Love a Broken Boy

by tridecaphilia



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Anorexia, Depression, Eating Disorders, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Model/Photographer AU, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5271584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tridecaphilia/pseuds/tridecaphilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forget you're broken too.</p><p>It starts with a random hookup, that leads to a job offer, that leads to something else.</p><p>DISCONTINUED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kiss his spine and his eyelids. Hold his face between your hands as if he’s crystal, ready to break. Fuck him hard and love him raw, because he can take it, and he needs to remember he can take it.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, regarding the rating. I stand by my decision not to publicly post explicit smut. It just makes me uncomfortable thinking the actors might stumble on it and be horrified. But there is explicit fingering and non-explicit sex. The rating is a "better safe than sorry" rating.
> 
> Second, regarding the title and chapter titles/summaries: All are from this Tumblr post: CORRECTION the original poster has linked me the proper post: http://feministsuperman.tumblr.com/post/79365015681/0-forget-youre-broken-too
> 
> The drink mentioned in this chapter is also from a Tumblr post, but I lost it.
> 
> Third (this one will contain spoilers so if you trust me to know what I'm doing skip this part, it's just a disclaimer because I've gotten hate in the past for this): yes, I'm writing another fic where Newt is anorexic. However, before anyone hits the back button or jumps in the comments to yell that that's not how anorexia works, Newt does NOT have anorexia nervosa. He has what used to be classified as "hysterical anorexia." This form of anorexia predates anorexia nervosa. It was found in the days when, you know, hysteria was still a diagnosis on the books. It has nothing to do with fatphobia, nor does it include a conscious decision not to eat. Hysterical anorexia was typically a response to grief, and it involved a psychosomatic blockage in the throat or other inability to eat. It can still be found in cultures that aren't westernized enough to have anorexia nervosa on the books. It's a fascinating bit of psychological history and I can point you to the book where I learned about it. Anyway. Newt has this form of anorexia. His brain more or less shuts down his appetite and ability to eat in response to stress, and he's always under stress. He can physically not eat more than tiny amounts at a time.
> 
> All good?
> 
> On with the fic.

Most nights, Thomas didn’t go drinking. Most days, he walked the streets finding gigs that would pay the rent that week. Most nights, he fell into bed and slept alone. But this wasn’t most nights. This was one of _those_ nights, the nights when he woke up sweating and the only cure was a soft kiss and a warm body. Granted, if he had someone to kiss and hold and fall asleep beside, he wouldn’t be waking up sweating in the first place. Thus, the bar. And thus, the blond at the bar.

He was being an idiot choosing him. There were plenty of guys who were more likely. The blond hadn’t done anything but sit at the bar chatting with the bartender and turn away drinks other men offered him. But somehow, that had turned into a challenge. Something to keep his mind away from the nightmares.

So he didn’t do what the other men had done. He didn’t wave down a waiter and send the blond an anonymous drink. He didn’t get a drink delivered and walk up to him with it. He went up to the bar, flagged the bartender down with a twenty, and very calmly said, “I want two of what he’s having.”

The blond had just finished his last round, and Thomas looked at him in time to catch the corner of his mouth quirk up. “I don’t remember asking for a drink,” he said innocently.

Thomas smiled back, sitting on the stool beside him. “Sucks paying for your own all night,” he said. “Especially when you came here to leave with someone.”

“And who says I came to do that?” the blond asked.

Thomas’s smile became a grin. “Well I can’t think of any other reason a beautiful man would be sitting in full view all alone while people sent him drinks.”

The blond actually smiled back, picking up the drink the bartender handed him. “And you didn’t notice me turning those drinks away?”

“‘Course I did,” Thomas said. “I also noticed none of them came up to you _before_ buying you a drink, and I noticed that you didn’t look at them before you sent the drink away. So I figure I’m ahead of the game already.”

That smile grew wider. “Why don’t you tell me your name, then?” the blond teased.

Thomas shook his head. “You first.”

Now he actually got a laugh out of the blond, an intoxicating sound that worked on him like the alcohol he hadn’t touched. “It’s Newt,” he said casually. “Now you.”

“Newt?” Thomas asked, surprised, but didn’t press. “I’m Thomas.”

“Tommy,” Newt said, nodding, looking him over appraisingly. “All right then, Tommy.” He picked up the glass again. “One more drink, and then we’ll go. On one condition.”

“What condition?” Thomas asked warily.

“You drink yours, too.”

Thomas blinked. Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't that. “Seriously? That's it?”

Newt nodded. “You ordered two of my drink without knowing what it was. Means you don't care what you drink, which like as not means you're not planning to drink it. And this is my fourth. I can hold my liquor, but I'm not going home tipsy with a man who hasn't touched a glass all night. So drink up.”

Thomas didn't argue. He didn't fight or question. He'd gotten this far, he wasn't backing down until Newt was in his bed. He took the glass and drained half of it in one gulp.

That turned out to be a mistake. The stuff in the glass looked like water or clear lemonade, but as soon as it touched his throat he sputtered and coughed, eyes watering from the burn of hard liquor. “Jesus Christ,” he said, still coughing. “What _is_ that?”

Newt laughed, so pleased Thomas actually felt the burn in his throat fade. “House special,” he said, nodding to the bartender. “He calls it the Agent Coulson. One part gin, one part vodka, and one part clear lemonade. Looks harmless but will knock you on your arse.”

“No shit,” Thomas gasped. But he took another sip, carefully this time. “How the hell does someone your size drink _four_ of these?”

Newt grinned. “Practice,” he said innocently, taking a sip of his own drink. He seemed totally unaffected by the alcohol. If it weren't for his own admission and Thomas watching him, he never would have believed Newt had had three of these already.

“All right,” he muttered, and took a gulp of scorchingly alcoholic liquid. “I finish this, and then I take you home.”

Newt winked and took another drink.

Despite Thomas nearly gagging on every sip of the Agent Coulson, he finished no later than Newt did his own, and then he was wrapping an arm around the blond’s waist and whispering in his ear.

“Now I get to take you home,” he whispered, “and fuck you like it’s our last night on Earth.”

Newt laughed, turning to catch his lips in a brief kiss. “Promises, promises,” he teased.

Thomas smacked his ass, and Newt laughed, skipping away and turning to face him. “All right, all right!” he conceded, raising his hands in surrender. “Take me home.”

Thomas could feel the eyes on him, could feel the jealousy in the men who’d tried to take Newt home themselves. It was almost as intoxicating as Newt’s laughter, but not quite. He grabbed the blond by the belt loops of his jeans and dragged him into another kiss, one searingly hot. Newt made a sound that was half laugh, half groan, and pulled back. His eyes had gone suddenly dark.

“Home, Tommy,” he ordered, breathing heavier than before. “Take me home.”

Thomas obliged.

~

His apartment was small, but he doubted Newt would care about the size of anything but the bed. And just as he’d suspected, the blond barely spared the area a glance before turning to face him.

“Bedroom,” Thomas ordered, pushing him in that direction.

Newt grinned, eyes dancing. “Well, aren’t you demanding all of a sudden?”

“Tell me you don’t like it,” Thomas challenged. “Tell me you want me to stop.”

The blond shook his head, still grinning. “But I do like it, Tommy,” he purred. “Take me to bed.”

Thomas grabbed the blond’s shoulders and spun him around, smacking his ass again. “Shoo,” he ordered. “It’s on the right, you can’t miss it.”

Newt turned again, walking backwards as he kept his eyes fixed on Thomas. Thomas followed, stepping out of his shoes and dropping his jacket on the floor as he went.

Newt, for his part, stayed fully clothed the whole way back to the room, lying back propped on his elbows with his legs spread. Thomas couldn’t deny it was a pretty sight; the shirt Newt wore clung to his torso, and his jeans were so tight they showed off every curve of his ass, as well as his growing erection.

“I can’t fuck you with your clothes on,” Thomas said, closing the door behind him and locking it. No one would interrupt them, but the click was satisfying.

“Then undress me,” Newt retorted with a cocky grin.

Thomas smiled back, licking his lips. “No,” he said. “I want to watch.”

Newt’s tongue flicked out to lick over his teeth. “Is that an order?”

He nodded.

Newt rolled forward and up to his feet, crossing the room to press close to Thomas. “What if I want you to pin me down and strip me?” he asked, trailing his hands up Thomas’s bare chest. “What then?”

Thomas caught the blond’s arms, held both wrists in his left hand and caught his chin with his right. “Then you’re going to be disappointed,” he said.

Normally he didn’t act like this, pushy and rough. Then again, normally he wasn’t spending a night with someone who so clearly loved it.

Keeping his eyes on Newt’s, he lowered his right hand to the bulge in the man’s crotch and palmed him roughly. He was rewarded by a sudden gasp and a dilation of the blond’s pupils.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

Thomas released him and pushed him back. “Undress. Now.”

Newt nodded, swallowing, and stepped back toward the bed, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. Thomas watched, slowly unzipping his jeans and letting them drop to his ankles. He hadn’t bothered putting on boxers when he got up again, and Newt’s eyes immediately went low. The blond swallowed, dropping his own pants and falling back onto the bed.

“Hands and knees,” Thomas ordered, stepping out of his jeans.

The blond obeyed.

~

Newt had never been so fucked, in so many ways. His arse hurt like nothing he'd felt before. He was amazed Thomas hadn't torn him, fucking him like that.

But the pain was nothing. He drank it in. What kept him awake was the feeling in his chest. A horrible, desperate, cloying feeling he'd sworn off after Alby.

Fuck, it felt good to feel it again.

He was fucked. Sex meant nothing, not the way he did it, anonymously with anyone who caught his attention and kept it. It meant nothing the way Thomas had taken him apart, nothing the way he'd asked for permission at every step, nothing the way he'd made Newt sob with pleasure and pain. That was the worst part, because Newt knew it was true. Thomas had the same look in his eyes that Newt did. The look that said he was running, running from nightmares and his own mind. The look that said he was just like Newt, just looking for someone to get him through the night. And that look hadn’t changed.

He’d tried to sleep, tried to be good as Thomas had asked him to (and when had _obeying_ started giving him such a rush?), but he couldn’t. He felt like he was suffocating in slow motion from the awful feeling, the horrible, damning knowledge that come morning he’d have to leave and would never see Thomas again.

He was still awake, still pondering how deeply fucked he was, when his phone rang.

He froze, going rigid. Absurdly, his first thought was that sudden need to be a good boy, the order Thomas had given him not to move. His second, close on its heels, was that his phone was set not to ring at night unless it was one person calling him, and Minho would kill him if he didn’t answer.

“Tommy,” he hissed, poking the other man’s side. “Tommy, I have to get up, I have to get that.”

Thomas grumbled, clearly still mostly asleep.

“Tommy,” Newt whined. If he only had this night, he wanted it to be good. _He_ wanted to be good. “Tommy, you have to pull out, I have to get that.”

Thomas grumbled again but shifted, pulling out. Newt almost whimpered at the sudden emptiness, but caught himself. On instinct his arse clamped shut, trapping Thomas’s come inside him. (“I never said I’d let my come out of you again,” Thomas had said. And “ _be a good boy._ ” God, he was fucked.)

Newt crawled to the edge of the bed, wincing with every movement, until he could grab his jeans off the floor and fish his phone out of them. He caught it just before it went to voicemail. “Min?”

“Dude,” Minho said with an obvious sigh of relief, “do we have to have the ‘leave a note’ conversation _again?_ ”

Newt sighed, flopping down on his stomach on the edge of the bed. “Sorry. Couldn’t sleep. Went out.”

“And where are you now?”

Newt started to roll onto his side, then winced again as his abused arse protested any movement. “Out,” he said.

Minho sighed. “At the guy’s house?”

“Apartment,” Newt said.

“Whatever. You staying the night?”

“That’s the plan.”

Another sigh. Newt could almost see Minho pacing back and forth across the hotel suite. “Fine,” he said. “Tell me next time.”

“I will,” Newt promised. “Go back to sleep.”

“You too,” Minho said, and hung up.

Newt dropped his phone to the floor again and crawled back up to lie with Thomas again. The brunette wrapped his arms around him, pulling Newt close. He sighed in contentment, purred when he felt the other man’s erection pressing against his arse.

“Who was that?” Thomas asked.

He sounded suddenly wary, and Newt frowned. Why was he upset? “My roommate,” he said.

“Just a roommate?”

Newt twisted his head to look over his shoulder. “You don’t think I was cheating with you?” he asked, frowning deeper. “Minho’s like a brother to me. I don’t let my brothers fuck me.”

Thomas hummed, hand slipping down to rub gently at Newt’s dick. Newt gasped, arching into the touch. “I--I’ve never let anyone fuck me like you did,” he admitted.

Thomas smiled, pushing his fingers back until he pressed the small bit of skin between Newt’s balls and crack. Newt whined.

“We still have time before the sun comes up,” Thomas whispered in his ear, tugging at Newt’s balls gently. “Would you let me fuck you like that again?”

Newt nodded shallowly, frantically.

“Good boy,” Thomas purred. “On your back, pretty boy.”

He’d never been affected like this by any of his other fucks. He’d kept himself in control, ridden them or simply ordered them on how to fuck him. But with Thomas, he didn’t _want_ to.

This time was even more torturous and blissful than the last. Thomas fucked him raw, teased him to the edge and forced him back down with ice on his dick. Finally he was allowed to come, and finally Thomas let him fall asleep--as long as he could do it with Thomas’s fingers twisting inside him. Somehow, he managed.

Of course, it was hard to stay asleep once those fingers started fucking him.

Teasing. Gagging. Sobbing and moaning and keening. Thomas in his mouth, Thomas's fingers in his arse, Thomas ordering him to touch himself, Thomas calling him gorgeous and a good boy, Thomas telling him come, don't come, ice and orgasm and he couldn't imagine having the energy to get out of bed and then, as the first grey tinges of dawn crept into the sky, Thomas sucked him off so gently and lovingly Newt almost cried.

“Gorgeous,” Thomas whispered again, pulling back and crawling up to kiss Newt. He licked into Newt’s mouth, letting him taste himself for what was at least the third time that night. Newt had lost count.

Thomas stayed there, straddling Newt's waist, and for a second Newt thought he was thinking of yet more he wanted to do to him. He wasn't sure he had any more left to give. But then Thomas rolled onto his side, trailing his fingers up and down Newt's stomach.

“You should see yourself,” he murmured. “Covered and filthy. You’re a wreck.” He kissed Newt, gentle this time. “I'll clean you up,” he murmured, and got to his feet and headed for the bathroom. Newt stayed where he was, watching. His eyes drifted, looking around the room until they landed on something on the dresser he hadn't noticed before.

Thomas returned, and Newt was about to ask about it before Thomas climbed on top of him again, straddling his chest as he cleaned Newt's face and neck with gentle touches and a cool cloth. He worked his way down, cleaning his chest and stomach, finding new places on the cloth to wipe away the sweat on his arms. He took Newt’s flaccid cock and cleaned it gently of spit and come, then scooted further down until he could slide the cloth between his cheeks, wiping away the evidence of so much use. Newt keened, and Thomas smirked down at him.

“Did that hurt?” he asked innocently.

Newt gave him the best glare he could manage. “Prick.”

“You loved it.”

He tried to maintain his glare, but it fell apart. “I did,” he admitted. “Did you?”

Thomas nodded. He pulled the cloth out of Newt’s arse, glancing at it to fold it up again, and winced. “Shit.” He reached down with one hand, probing gently. Even that made Newt’s back arch, arse protesting a night of abuse. “I tore you,” Thomas said frantically, pulling his hand away. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’ve never--”

“Tommy,” Newt said, breathing hard. “It’s all right. I’ve been torn before, I’ll live.” Granted, not since he was fifteen and still learning what prep was, but he’d walked then and he’d walk now, no matter how much it hurt to do.

Thomas frowned but nodded, folding up the cloth. He retreated to the bathroom to put it away, then returned, pulling the sheets up around Newt. He was starting to climb back into bed when Newt seized the chance to ask.

“Do you know how to use that?” he asked, nodding sluggishly at the camera on the dresser.

~

Thomas glanced over his shoulder to see what Newt was talking about. “Yeah,” he said, frowning. “I take photographs for the newspaper all the time.” Sometimes. And for smaller, local designers, sometimes. And for the occasional magazine, sometimes. Mostly he scraped by with whatever odd jobs he could get. He looked back at Newt. “Why?”

The blond smiled. There was something in his eyes, something Thomas couldn’t quite pin down. “Will you photograph me?” he asked.

Thomas blinked. He’d never thought of taking a picture after a night like this. Then again, none of his previous nights had featured such stunning subjects. Newt’s pupils were still blown wide, lips still swollen, a thin sheen of sweat still covering his body. He practically glowed in the growing light of dawn. Thomas couldn’t pass up the chance to capture that on film. Especially when the bearer of all that beauty was asking for it.

“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “Sure.”

Newt smiled, shifting. He let the sheet slip down until his chest and stomach were fully exposed and the sheet clung to his hips, moved his arms to lay beside him in a way that suggested he’d just woken up. Thomas was so busy staring it took him a minute to remember to pick up his camera.

He adjusted the settings, focusing on the camera to keep his brain from scrambling. This was a one-night thing, and the night was almost over. He wouldn’t get to take Newt apart like this again, wouldn’t get to watch him writhe and listen to him moan again. These photographs would help him remember.

He lifted the camera to his eye, watching Newt. The blond had let his head fall to the side, looking out the window at the sunrise. The sun streaked his hair with gold, made it look like a halo around his head.

“Make me look good,” Newt said.

“Be impossible not to,” Thomas replied with a smile. He snapped a photo, then another. Then the impulses that had guided him through the night reasserted themselves. “Touch yourself,” he ordered.

Newt glanced at him curiously, then slid his hand under the sheet to his dick. Thomas couldn’t imagine Newt could get hard again after everything, but his eyes fluttered shut and a look of bliss crossed his face. Thomas smiled as he took another few pictures, moving around and fiddling with the zoom to get a better angle. He took another picture with only Newt’s face, one with his torso focused and his face fuzzy around the edges.

“Look at me,” he ordered. “I want to see your eyes.”

Newt lifted his eyes to Thomas, so dark Thomas’s breath caught. He snapped a few more pictures.

“Lick your fingers,” he said next. “Beautiful,” he murmured when Newt obeyed, and snapped another picture.

He continued, until Newt groaned and pressed his palm to his dick. Thomas laughed, lowering the camera. “Too much?” he asked teasingly.

“Fuck me,” Newt mumbled, head falling back. “You’re going to kill me if you keep doing that.”

Thomas laughed again, setting the camera back on the dresser. “You want me to fuck you again?” he asked.

Newt whimpered. “I don’t know if I can take you again.”

Thomas crawled onto the bed, hand sneaking down to caress Newt’s half-hard dick. “Didn’t you promise you could take whatever I gave you?” he asked.

Newt nodded, breath hitching.

Thomas kissed him, soft and sweet, hand wrapping around Newt’s cock. “I won’t,” he said. “The sun’s up. Time for Cinderella to go back to work, and time for the sweet prince to have some real sleep.”

“Which is which?” Newt asked, voice strained.

“Which do you think?” Thomas asked teasingly, starting to jerk Newt off.

Newt barely lasted. His back arched as he came, before he fell limp to the bed once more. “Let--let me see the pictures?”

Thomas nodded, kissing him gently before going to get the camera again.

He was wary of sharing his most valuable possession with a near-stranger, but Newt handled the camera like he’d done it before, flipping through the pictures. Finally he handed it back, and Thomas put it back on the dresser.

“Hand me my wallet,” Newt ordered. “And a pen.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Well, look who’s demanding all of a sudden.”

Newt shifted his hips, wincing. “You’re the reason I hurt so much. The least you can do is keep me off my feet a little longer.”

Thomas frowned, petting Newt’s flank. “Did I hurt you too much?”

“ _Tommy,_ ” Newt said, exasperated. “You hurt me _beautifully._ I loved it. Now get me my wallet and a fucking pen.”

Thomas laughed. Two hours ago he would have spanked Newt thoroughly for talking to him like that, but the sun’s return had brought Newt’s fire with it, and he loved that as much as he’d loved taking the blond to pieces. He grabbed Newt’s jeans and fished his wallet out of the back pocket, handing it to him, then grabbed a pen from the bedside table and handed him that as well.

Newt fished through his wallet until he found a business card, flipped it over and scribbled something on the back. “Bring your camera to this address, ten o’clock tomorrow,” he ordered, handing it to Thomas. “Bring the pictures too--get them printed and bring them. Ask for Sonya.”

Thomas frowned, looking at the business card. The front read SONYA NEWTON--INDEPENDENT ARTIST and had a number and an email address. The back had the address Newt had written. “What’s there?” he asked, meaning the address.

Newt stretched his arms over his head, looking like the cat that got the canary. “A better job than doing local-interest pieces for newspapers,” he said smugly. “Now go to work, I need to sleep.”

 


	2. (see chapter summary)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These steady hands of yours, put them on his hips, put them around his waist. Dance with him, your bodies so close you can’t see where you end and where he begins. Show him off to the world, make the crowds jealous that you’re the one to take him home. Let him bask in the glory of attention but whisper mine as you bite at his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I gotta be honest. The smutfest in the last chapter? Really isn't gonna happen again. Until maybe the end. This is about to take my customary left turn into angst. Only these two can't keep their hands off each other so. I mean. It's not gonna be as PG as my other works. There's more fingering in this chapter, for a start. They're just... not gonna go at it like rabbits for a whole night again. Sorry?

Thomas spent the first half of the day debating whether or not to follow what Newt had said.

Maybe Newt just wanted the pictures. That was fair, since he was the subject, but Thomas had made a policy years ago that he didn’t work for free. He charged money even to his friends when they asked him to take photos for Christmas cards. The only free pictures he gave away were gifts for birthdays and holidays, and only because he was too broke to afford anything else. He was hanging on to his apartment by the skin of his teeth as it was.

He’d just decided not to go when by mistake he flipped back to the picture where Newt had been palming himself under the sheets. He found himself staring for far too long before he shook himself loose and found the picture he was actually working on.

Last night had been the best sex he’d ever had. And half of it hadn’t even been sex--half of it had been teasing and tormenting Newt until the blond begged to be fucked. And then saying no.

God, that had been a rush.

Almost as much of a rush had been Newt palming himself on command for the pictures, Newt desperate from nothing more than Thomas’s voice.

It was stupid to get attached. He’d never see Newt again.

Unless.

Unless Newt was at the job he’d given Thomas a card for. Unless, longshot though it was, the blond had asked Thomas to come so he could see _Thomas_ again.

He flipped back to the pictures he’d taken, the one with Newt sucking on his own fingers. To see that beautiful face again, maybe even take him home and take him apart again… That was worth a few photos.

~

He had to have the wrong address.

He stared up at the building, then looked down at the business card in his hand. Maybe he’d read Newt’s handwriting wrong. He wasn’t sure how he could manage that--the blond wrote in slanted, neat cursive that was impressively easy to read, like it was a computer font instead of a human’s handwriting. And that handwriting said this address.

Thomas looked up at the building again. He knew exactly what building this was, now that he was looking at it. He hadn’t recognized the address, but of course he knew.

He almost turned around and left, thinking it had to be a prank, but he had nothing to lose. He pushed the glass door open and went inside.

The lobby of the building was so much glass and steel, with a black granite desk sitting imposingly in front of him. Thomas crossed the short black rug and cleared his throat.

“I, um. I’m looking for Sonya Newton?”

The woman behind the desk looked up, sharp-eyed behind her glasses. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Not exactly,” Thomas admitted. “I, um. A guy named Newt asked me to come here.”

A suspicion hit him then, a sudden thought that nearly made his knees give out under him. _Newt._ A blond man named Newt who invited Thomas _here_ and commanded enough respect that the woman picked up the phone as soon as she heard the name.

No way. That was impossible. He had not spent a night with a…

He choked that thought off. No. He wasn’t going there because it _wasn’t true._ If it was, then Newt had just been playing with him and Thomas was about to get thrown out on his ass.

He waited, trying not to show the sudden rush of anxiety, until the elevator dinged and a woman with hair so blonde it was almost white stepped off. She crossed the massive lobby of the office building, flats making no sound on the white tile.

“You’re Thomas?” she asked shortly. She had the same accent Newt did. The sick anxious feeling was getting worse.

Thomas nodded, dazed.

“Sonya,” she introduced herself carelessly. “Let me see them.”

Thomas blinked. “Um…”

Sonya snapped her fingers in front of his face. “The pictures, mate. You brought them, didn’t you?”

“Oh, right.” Thomas fished through his satchel until he found the padded envelope he’d put the glossy photographs in and handed them over.

Sonya flipped through them, expression impassive. She snorted and held one out to him. “This his idea, or yours?”

She had, of course, picked out the one where Newt was unsubtly touching himself under the sheets. Thomas flushed. “M-mine,” he admitted.

Sonya snorted again, looking through the rest. “You’ll do,” she declared, putting the pictures back in the envelope. “At least for a trial run. Come on.”

Without another word, without any kind of explanation, she led Thomas to the elevator. He got in with her, clutching his satchel nervously, while she pressed the button for the seventh floor.

“Newt tell you anything?” she asked. “By the look on your face, I’m guessing not so much.”

Thomas shook his head dazedly.

Sonya didn’t seem surprised. “‘Course he didn’t,” she muttered. “You figure it out yet?”

He opened his mouth to say no, remembered his suspicion, closed it again. “I’m not sure yet,” he muttered.

“Fair enough,” Sonya said as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. “No shame in waiting for certainty. Wish my brother could do that.”

She got off the elevator and Thomas followed, stomach turned almost inside out from nerves. Her _brother?_ Had he just handed her pictures of her brother? Touching himself at Thomas’s command? He was _fucked_.

“Zart!” Sonya called as they entered the floor.

Thomas opened his mouth to ask who she was talking to, but he didn’t have a chance. A young man with hair even lighter than Sonya’s stormed out of what must have been an office and made a beeline for her, fire in his eyes.

“What the _hell_ did you say to Frankie?” he snapped.

Thomas had just met Sonya, and he already knew that was a bad way to talk to her. Sure enough, Sonya straightened, snapping right back. “I told her to stop harassing my brother.”

“She wasn’t _harassing_ him--” the man began.

Sonya interrupted. “She _yelled_ at him. Called him a whore. You pay him, you can talk to him like that. She’s just a photographer. I told her to stop. She quit over that?”

“Yes, she quit,” the man--he had to be Zart--snapped. “Over the phone this morning.” Finally he seemed to notice Thomas standing there awkwardly. “Who’s this?”

Sonya handed him the envelope. “Frankie’s replacement.”

Zart took the envelope, flipping through the pictures. He snorted when he saw one of them; Thomas didn’t dare guess which one. Finally he tucked the photos away and handed the envelope back to Sonya, looking at Thomas. “You ever take pictures of people with their clothes on?”

Thomas flushed bright red. “Usually, yeah.”

Zart studied him a minute. “Well, we’ll give you a try. I don’t hire photographers for one model,” he told Sonya. “Your boy better deliver on all of them, not just your brother.”

He turned and walked away without another word. Thomas was just digesting that when another voice, a familiar one this time, floated through the hall.

“Sonya? Have you seen…”

The voice trailed off, and Thomas turned to look at the speaker. Sure enough, there he was. Newt, upright and clean and back in control of his faculties--but wearing nothing but a heavy blue robe. Thomas couldn’t help staring at the bit of Newt’s chest that peeked out, at his lips, at his hair--

“Are you wearing glitter?” he asked stupidly.

Newt didn’t answer. He was grinning, happier than Thomas had imagined he’d be. “You came,” he said softly, crossing the floor to stand next to Thomas. “I didn’t think you would.”

He _was_ wearing glitter, or there was glitter in his hair, rather. Maybe worked into the spray that was making it stand out like a fairy’s. Thomas wanted to run his hands through it, but he couldn’t seem to make himself move. Probably for the best anyway.

Finally his throat unstuck. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.

Newt glanced around, at Sonya, at the returning Zart. “We should talk,” he said quietly.

“Great,” Sonya said without missing a beat. “Since he’d already seen your dick, you two can have your talk while I finish dressing you.”

Newt didn’t look in the least embarrassed, just waved Thomas to follow him as he followed his sister. Which Thomas did, head spinning.

He was _fucked._

The room Sonya led them into turned out to be a makeup studio. Newt took a seat in front of the mirror, while Sonya pointed Thomas to an empty chair. Although the place was set up for at least a dozen people to be taken care of, they were the only three in the place.

Of course they were, Thomas thought. It was _Newt._

He couldn’t figure out how he’d been so stupid. In his defense, Thomas didn’t follow fashion news. The only one of Newt’s shoots he’d seen had been the one that put him on the map, the concept shoot where he modeled as both a man and a woman. The photos of him in drag had been the ones that stuck with Thomas.

“So,” Sonya said, pulling out a compact and getting to work on Newt’s face, “talk.”

It took Thomas a while to make words come out of his mouth. But obviously he had to be the one to say it. Newt was holding still while his sister made him up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked at last.

Newt shrugged, which got him a smack on the shoulder from Sonya. “I don’t sleep with people who know,” he said. “Turns me from a good fuck into bragging rights.”

Sonya nodded sharply. “I’ve heard them,” she said. “Bragging to their friends that they fucked a supermodel.”

Thomas swallowed hard. _He’d_ fucked a supermodel. He’d fucked one of the most sought-after male models on the _planet._ He’d made him _beg._

“I thought you had to realize, once I realized you were a photographer,” Newt said. “But you didn’t, did you?”

Thomas shook his head, then realized Newt’s eyes were closed and he couldn’t see. “Not a clue,” he admitted.

“And how do you feel now that you know?”

He had to think about that. How _did_ he feel? Finally he said, “Mostly I just want to know why I'm here.”

“I thought that was obvious,” Newt said. “I want you to be my photographer.”

“But…” Thomas trailed off. “You have a photographer.”

“Nick broke his arm two months ago,” Sonya said. “Got in an accident on his motorcycle.”

“So…” Again he paused to wrap his head around this. “You want me to be a substitute?”

Silence. Thomas looked at Newt, but Sonya had turned the blond’s head so she could apply eyeliner to one of his eyes.

Sonya was the one to answer, when she was satisfied that Newt’s eye looked the same as the other one. “Nick’s been making noise about going back to freelancing. My brother’s hoping you’ll come on full-time.”

Thomas swallowed. “Can you give us a minute?” he asked Sonya abruptly. “I need to ask Newt something in private.”

Sonya glanced at Newt, then nodded. “I’ll go grab the first outfit from Zart,” she said. “You’ve got three minutes.”

Thomas waited until she’d left, rubbing his hands together and looking at the floor. He didn’t see Newt fidgeting, but he heard it. Finally he asked, “Is that all you want from me? A professional relationship?”

He almost heard Newt swallow. The blond looked over his shoulder, examining Thomas. “Why did you come here?”

Thomas looked at him, really looked, taking him in. Sonya had colored his lips just barely redder than normal, had brushed eyeliner out from his eyes in feathery swoops. He looked like an angel. Thomas swallowed. “I wanted to see you again,” he answered.

“Then no.” Newt turned to face him fully. It was hard to tell under the makeup, but Thomas thought he was blushing. “No, I definitely was not just looking for a professional relationship.”

Thomas nodded. “Then I’ll do it.”

~

Thomas had first become aware of Newt in high school. What had started for the blond as a small concept shoot with a regional magazine had gone viral, almost solely because Newt starred in both male and female roles. Pictures of Newt as a him and Newt as a her were plastered side-by-side over the internet with the caption “This is the same person.” From being an unknown model working small shoots between classes and college applications, Newt had turned almost overnight into one of the most sought-after male models in the country.

Then things had gotten even weirder.

Thomas was a student of photography at the local community college when Newt started being dropped from shoots. Rumors abounded. The man was a diva, refused to work with any photographer except his childhood friend, refused to let anyone see him naked except his twin sister. When he appeared in shoots that didn’t meet those requirements, he looked anywhere from tense to terrified. Newt’s star might have fallen as quickly as it rose, if someone hadn’t given in.

Thomas didn’t know how he’d managed it, but somehow Newt convinced a major national magazine to do a shoot of him following his terms. The magazine had made a feature out of it. Newt had been the cover story. And when the magazine and its photos came out, they’d been stunning. Newt had proven himself in the interview to be well-spoken and friendly and just this side of arrogant. The pictures had been unbelievable. And first one, then another magazine and fashion designer had decided that getting a model who performed undeniably better than anyone else was worth the expense of hiring a freelance photographer, especially when Nick proved he could perform just as well with models he hadn’t grown up with.

If Thomas had been a regular fashion photographer, he never would have forgotten Newt. But he wasn’t a fashion photographer, and had never planned on being one before. Once the blond wasn’t on the front page anymore, he’d faded to the back of his mind.

Until now.

Once Sonya had Newt dressed, Thomas trailed behind them as they went to Zart for final fittings. Zart turned out, when Newt did the belated introductions, to be the designer whose work was being featured in the next issue of the magazine. Thomas also met Harriet, the editor, who looked at him with nothing short of skepticism.

Thomas didn’t blame her. This was new territory. And aside from the pressure of a totally different style of photography, there was the frantic pace, a dozen other models to meet and photograph, and more shots than he’d taken in his entire life.

The good news was, he didn’t have to go it alone. Zart had very particular ideas about what poses he wanted the models to do, and did more yelling at them than Thomas did. He seemed to handle Newt with kid gloves, which surprised Thomas. Thomas kept his mouth shut when Newt was in front of the camera, not wanting to say something he’d regret Sonya hearing.

Finally, after what felt like three solid hours of taking photographs, Zart called a halt while the models were changed into new clothes and makeup.

“I’m taking a leak,” Newt announced, waving over his shoulder as he left for the bathroom. Thomas watched him, trying to talk himself out of what he knew would be a bad idea.

“Is there a drinking fountain?” he asked at last.

Sonya pointed down the hall. “Right outside the men’s room,” she said, giving him a look that said she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Thomas ignored her, heading down the hall. He didn’t hesitate, went straight into the bathroom.

“Do you know how crazy you’re driving me?” he asked, looking seriously at Newt. The blond had changed back into his robe after Zart informed him he wasn’t allowed to wear his work to take a piss, and it made Thomas want to push the cloth off him and fuck him against the wall.

Newt looked over at him, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Is that why you weren’t talking?” he asked, flicking on the water to wash his hands. “I thought you were upset with me.”

“How could I _possibly_ be upset with you?” It was an honest question. Thomas couldn’t imagine being angry at the blond.

On impulse, he crossed the bathroom to stand behind him, pressing his front to Newt’s back. “How are you feeling?” he asked, slipping a hand under the robe and pressing his fingers to Newt’s dick.

Newt gasped. “T-Tommy,” he groaned, leaning forward. “Don’t _do_ that.”

“Why not?” Thomas asked innocently. He trailed his fingers around Newt’s side to squeeze his ass, slipped his fingers into his crack until he found his asshole. It was still puffy from the abuses of two nights ago, and Newt groaned aloud when he pressed the tips of his fingers into it.

“Not here,” Newt gasped. “If--Zart will kill me if you make me come on this robe. Sonya will kill _you_ if you make me walk out there hard.”

Thomas hummed, removing his fingers and spinning the blond around. “I can think of a third option,” he murmured, lifting Newt up onto the sinks. He grinned at the blond, licking his lips. “I remember how you looked when I sucked you off,” he whispered. “I want to see that face again.”

Newt put a hand on his chest, shaking his head. “Tommy. Stop. Stop.”

Thomas stopped, letting the blond put his thoughts in order. Finally Newt said, “I want to keep you. I want you to keep me. So--so you can’t, not here, not at work. You can take me home and do whatever you want to me, but here I have to be Newt. I have to work.”

Thomas had stopped listening after the first two sentences. “You want me to keep you?” he asked.

Newt ducked his head, bit his lip, but nodded.

Thomas smiled, leaning forward and kissing him. “Let me take you to dinner,” he murmured against his lips.

Newt’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“Let me take you to dinner,” Thomas repeated. “Let me take you out, then take you home and make love to you.”

Newt frowned. “Why?” he asked slowly.

“You want me to keep you,” Thomas said, brushing Newt’s hair back from his face. “I don’t keep people just to fuck them. And--and I want to keep you. So let me. Please.”

Newt looked away, shoulders tensing. “Is this--tell me this isn’t because you found out I’m a model.”

“It’s not,” Thomas promised. “I told you, I want to see you how you look when I’m making you happy. I want to keep you. So let me date you. Let me take you to dinner and make love to you, please.”

Someone pounded on the door. “Newt!” Sonya yelled. “If you’re not out in thirty seconds I’m coming in!”

Newt looked at the door, then back at Thomas, wide-eyed. “I have to go,” he hissed.

“Let me,” Thomas pressed.

Newt leaned forward and kissed him quickly. “Yes,” he whispered. “Of course I will. Now I have to go.”

Thomas stepped back, and Newt fled.

Thomas made the mistake of relaxing until the door opened and Sonya poked her head in. “To be clear,” she said. “My brother likes you, and that’ll let you get away with a lot. But if you make this a habit, I’ll start fining you for every time I have to redo his makeup.”

She closed the door again, not quite quickly enough for Thomas to miss Newt saying “You had to redo my makeup anyway, I’m changing.”

Thomas grinned.


	3. (see chapter summary)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re drunk and young and crazy when he slams you up against a wall and whispers I need you, and all you want is to drop to your knees, maybe to pray, maybe to get your mouth on him, (maybe both). Instead you keep still, push him gently away but keep your fingers on his pulse-point and drag him to the bathroom, brush his hair back when he throws up in the sink.

Thomas had seen Newt naked. He’d seen him in a robe, in three different bespoke outfits that Zart fitted to him, and, for an hour when they first met, in his civilian wear.

He’d forgotten how good the civilian wear looked.

Newt had showered after the last shoot and changed back into black skinny jeans and a clingy, silky, pale pink button-down shirt. He wore pristine black high-tops on his feet and a silver watch dangled loosely from his wrist. His hair was still wet and he’d slicked it back with his fingers, and even without makeup his face was stunning. Thomas couldn’t stop staring.

Newt laughed. “Close your mouth before you catch flies,” he advised him, stepping up even closer until his shirt brushed against Thomas’s. He seemed shorter today. Had he been wearing heels when they met?

Newt smirked and brushed his lips against Thomas’s, whose brain promptly short-circuited. Without a word he put a hand on the small of Newt’s back and one on the back of his neck and pulled him in close, kissing him fiercely, possessively. When he pulled back, any hint of color in Newt’s eyes had vanished. Thomas smirked, running his thumb along Newt’s swollen lower lip.

“God, I want to fuck you against the wall,” he whispered.

Apparently he wasn’t quiet enough, because a female voice promptly answered, “Please don’t.”

Sonya was approaching, her jacket over her shoulder and Zart beside her. Zart gave Thomas a smirk of his own.

“Try not to make him limp this time,” he said. “I need him walking.”

Newt rolled his eyes, waving a hand dismissively. “I walked fine.”

“Fine is not your best,” Zart retorted. “I need your best. There’s only three days left in this shoot, surely you can restrain yourselves that long.”

“You going out again?” Sonya asked them.

Newt nodded, but Thomas was the one to answer. He snaked an arm around Newt’s waist and pulled him close as he said, “I’m taking my boyfriend to dinner.”

Zart didn’t react, but Sonya raised her eyebrows, looking at Newt disbelievingly. “Seriously? You’re going out to dinner?”

Newt glared at her and nodded tightly. “Don’t,” he said warningly.

Thomas frowned at her, glancing at Newt to check his expression. He could feel the blond’s tension in his waist under his hand. “What’s wrong with that?” he asked.

“Nothing!” Sonya said quickly. “I’d pay for it myself if you let me.”

Thomas blinked. “I’m--fine, but thanks,” he said slowly. “I guess.”

“You’re welcome,” Sonya said. “Let me know if you feel like taking me up on it sometime.”

The elevator dinged as it opened, and she slipped in past them, Zart at her heels. Thomas ushered Newt in and pulled him back against him, the blond’s back to his front, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“You okay?” he whispered in his ear. “You’re tense.”

Newt leaned against him. “I don’t like my baby sister meddling in my life,” he whispered back.

“I can hear you,” Sonya said. “Small elevator.”

“Then stop listening,” Newt retorted as the elevator doors opened.

He grabbed Thomas's hand and dragged him toward the door as fast as he could walk. Thomas laughed, catching up and sliding his arm around his waist again.

“Newt!” Sonya yelled from behind.

Newt looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“Call Minho! Now!”

He rolled his eyes and waved a hand. “I'll call on the way.”

“No you won't, I know you. Call him. Now.”

Newt sighed but fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed. Thomas kept walking, leading the way as Newt warned his roommate not to expect him back for dinner.

~

He knew he was in trouble as soon as the restaurant came into view.

“Oh, no,” he whispered. “Tommy, you can't.”

Thomas frowned, looking down at him. “Can't what? Do you not like Italian?”

Newt shook his head jerkily. “It's _Celeste_ ,” he said. “That's too much money, you can't afford that.”

“I can now.” Thomas squeezed his side, pulling him closer possessively. “I met with the editor while you were showering. I'm hired, and I got paid for today.”

“But…” Newt trailed off. It would be rude to admit he'd noticed how small Thomas's apartment was, or that he'd looked at the mail on the table when he got up in the morning and made himself coffee, that he'd seen the bills there.

Thomas stopped, turning him to face him. “It's okay, Newt. Seriously. Everything's paid through the month. I have the money to spend, and I want to spend it on you. Let me, please.”

Newt looked at the restaurant, then at Thomas, eyes pleading. “I'm not worth that,” he said. “I don't even eat that much, and I hate leftovers. You'd just be wasting money.”

“It's not a waste if you enjoy it,” Thomas said. “It's not a waste if I get to spend the time with you.” But he frowned, tucking a strand of Newt's drying hair behind his ear. “Please let me do this for you, “ he said quietly. “I've never been able to spoil someone before. Please let me.”

How was he supposed to say no to that?

The restaurant was small and dimly lit, and every table was already full save one. Newt was relieved that they were being seated now. At least he wouldn't have time to work his anxiety up into something unmanageable.

“Have I mentioned how good you look?” Thomas asked, pulling Newt's seat out for him like an old-fashioned gentleman.

Newt smiled. Somehow he enjoyed hearing that when it came from Thomas. “You did mention wanting to fuck me against a wall,” he said teasingly.

“Still do,” Thomas admitted. “If I wasn't already planning to make love to you, I'd do it as soon as we got home.” He grinned. “Maybe I will anyway, though. Do that first and make love to you after.”

Newt, to his credit, wasn't blushing. He'd heard far more graphic suggestions from past boyfriends. Still, the way Thomas looked at him when he said it did things to him.

Thomas looked down at the menu, scanning it. Newt took that as his cue to do the same.

To his relief, they had several risottos. Risotto was mild enough, and smooth enough, that he could sometimes force it past the block in his throat. Besides, it reheated well, so Thomas could have his leftovers for lunch tomorrow. It was what Minho did sometimes, all the while steadfastly saying he wasn't going to encourage Newt's “not-eating habits.”

“God, everything looks so good,” Thomas said. “You know what you're getting?”

Newt nodded, pointing to the chicken risotto. It had plenty of vegetables, plus pancetta. Light enough to eat (hopefully), heavy enough to look like a meal.

“Wow, that looks good,” Thomas said.

Newt grinned. “You'll get some. I don't eat much.”

Thomas nodded, still staring at the description, before he snapped himself back to looking at his own menu.

Growing up, Newt had gone to restaurants like this all the time. His father was rich, his mother had hefty inheritances, and at time they'd been one happy family. And now, though he didn't eat this way anymore, it wasn't for lack of money. He was paid far above what he was worth, and Sonya was paid more than any other makeup artist in the business. Newt didn't need that much money, though. He tended to find ways to give it to Minho without the other man getting prideful.

For Thomas, though, this was obviously a new experience. Newt wanted him to enjoy it. He was determined to play at being normal well enough that Thomas wouldn't worry.

That resolve lasted until the food arrived and he started eating. This risotto was richer than he'd bargained for, and he only ate a few bites before his stomach started to twist and the block in his throat started to swell. He put the fork down hurriedly.

Thomas frowned. “Is it not good?” he asked. “We can send it back…”

“No, it's great,” Newt said hurriedly. “I'm just--I told you, I don't eat much.”

Thomas was still frowning. “You've eaten hardly anything.”

Newt almost told him the truth. That since college he hadn't been able to eat more than a few bites at a time. That there was a block in his throat and a twist in his stomach that no amount of therapy or pills had ever managed to cure, so he'd stopped trying years ago. That Thomas wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

Instead he picked up the fork and took another, careful bite.

Thomas smiled, taking his free hand. “Just half the plate?” he asked. “For me?”

Newt nodded, though he felt ready to throw up already. Half the plate. It was a small plate. Half of it, for Thomas. Just to be a good boy, just so Thomas wouldn't worry. Then home, and bed and no chance of sleeping.

~

Thomas was worried. Newt had eaten a little over the half the plate Thomas had asked for, but he didn't look well by the end. He'd popped a mint into his mouth and was leaning into Thomas as they walked the few blocks back to Thomas's apartment.

“You did so good,” he whispered, brushing Newt's hair back from his face. “So good. I'm so proud of you.”

Newt nuzzled him but didn't say anything.

Thomas's worries only grew as they reached his building. Newt kept swallowing hard, and he looked almost green.

“Was there something wrong with the food?” Thomas asked quietly. “Or were you sick before?” There was another option, but it was so absurd to think that he wouldn't unless Newt brought it up. Half of a small plate shouldn't make anyone sick.

Newt shook his head. “‘M okay,” he mumbled. “I'll be okay. Just take me home.”

“We're here, beautiful,” Thomas said, opening the door. “Come on, come inside.”

Newt stepped in, straightening. He seemed a little calmer now, but Thomas couldn't tell if that was real or a facade for his benefit. Either way, Thomas had already made up his mind that tonight wouldn't be a night for anything strenuous.

Newt turned to face him, looping his arms around Thomas's neck. “You promised,” he whispered, nuzzling him. “We're home now.”

“I know,” Thomas said. He set his hands on Newt's waist gently. “But I don't think we should.”

Newt whined. “You promised,” he said.

Thomas couldn't help feeling awful. He had promised. And it was partly his fault Newt had gotten sick. But he still didn't want to stress him.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Come to bed. We'll wait a while and see if you feel better and if you do, I will.”

Newt whined again. “And if not?”

“Then there's always tomorrow,” Thomas promised. “Come on, come to bed.”

He curled an arm around Newt's waist protectively and led him back to the bedroom, helping him sit down on the bed. Newt looked awful, face pale and sweaty. Thomas kissed him gently.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered, brushing his hair back from his face. “I should've taken you somewhere else.”

It was the only thing that made sense. Something had to have been wrong with the food. Thomas felt fine, but then, he'd been known to eat leftovers from two weeks ago with no ill effects.

“Not your fault,” Newt whispered.

Thomas kissed his forehead. “Stay here, I'll get you a bucket.”

Newt nodded, lying back on the bed, following Thomas with his eyes as he went to the bathroom and fetched the bucket he kept his cleaning supplies in. He returned and set the bucket on the floor, then turned to his boyfriend.

“Try to relax,” he whispered, kissing his forehead. “Let me take care of you.”

Newt nodded, pressing his lips together.

Thomas knelt by the bed and started untying Newt's shoes, pulling each one off his foot and setting them on the ground. Then his socks, then his jeans. His hands were gentle, movements slow.

He'd just gotten Newt's jeans unbuttoned when the blond sat up suddenly, clapping a hand over his mouth. Thomas seized the bucket and held it under Newt's mouth, and Newt threw up, gagging and retching until he'd thrown up everything he'd had at dinner and probably then some.

Thomas stayed still, holding the bucket for Newt and brushing his hair off his face. “It's okay,” he whispered over and over. “Just get it all out, it's okay, I'm so sorry, I've got you.”

Newt kept heaving, retching although nothing was coming out anymore. His face was streaked with sweat and tears and he was shaking. Thomas kept whispering and brushing his hair away, unsure what else to do.

Finally the heaving stopped and Newt slumped back onto the bed, sobbing. Thomas set the bucket aside and climbed into bed with him, stroking his hair and holding him close.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

Newt didn't say anything, just kept crying.

Thomas, after a moment's hesitation, crawled over the blond so he could spoon him, petting his hair and kissing his neck. “It's okay,” he whispered. “It's okay, you can cry, I've got you. I'm so sorry.”

Newt hiccupped, slowly calming down from his sobs. Thomas kissed the back of his neck and got out of bed.

“I'll be right back,” he promised, and went to the bathroom. He filled a cup with a little mouthwash, another with water, and returned.

“Sit up for me?” he asked.

Newt obeyed.

Thomas held the cup of mouthwash to his lips. “Swish this around,” he said. “Spit it into the bucket when you're done.”

Newt nodded, let Thomas tip the mouthwash into his mouth, swished it obediently and spat when Thomas held up the bucket again.

“Good boy,” Thomas whispered, kissing him again. He could taste the bile on Newt's lips, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was making Newt okay again.

“Here,” he said, pressing the water into Newt's hands. “Drink this. I'll be back.”

When Newt started drinking, Thomas took the bucket to the bathroom and flushed the contents down the toilet. He washed it out in the kitchen with dish soap and brought it back, setting it beside the bed again. He took the now-empty cup from Newt and set it on the bedside table, then guided the blond back to lie down again.

“Sorry,” Newt whispered. “Fucked up your plans.”

“Don't apologize,” Thomas ordered, kissing him again. “It's not your fault. Just let me take care of you.”

Newt's face crumpled. “I want it,” he whispered. “Need it. Need you.”

“You need to be well,” Thomas said. “You need to relax and recover.”

“I need you,” Newt repeated.

“I'm right here,” Thomas promised. “Just relax. Try to sleep.”

He petted Newt's hair again, smiling wryly. “Is it bad that I still think you look beautiful?”

Newt tried to smile back. “Is it bad I appreciate it?”

“No,” Thomas promised, kissing him gently. “Not at all.”

Newt closed his eyes, smile fading.

“Sleep a while, beautiful boy,” Thomas whispered, brushing his hair back. “If you feel better later we can still do everything.”

He finished undressing Newt, then himself, while Newt tried to relax. He crawled up beside him, spooning the blond while he pulled the blankets over them both.

For a while he thought Newt was asleep. Until the blond sniffled, starting to cry.

“What's wrong?” Thomas asked, cuddling him closer and petting him. “What is it, beautiful?”

“I can't,” Newt whimpered. “I can't sleep, I can't.”

“It's okay,” Thomas whispered. “It's okay, you don't have to.”

“It hurts,” Newt said, pressing his hands to his stomach. “It hurts and I can't stop thinking long enough to sleep.”

“Shhhh,” Thomas whispered. “Sh, just relax. Let me take care of you. Roll onto your back.”

Newt obeyed, looking at him curiously, pleadingly. “What are you going to do?”

Thomas smiled, crawling down until he was situated between Newt's legs. “I'm gonna make you stop thinking,” he whispered, and lowered his mouth to Newt's cock.

 


	4. Author's Note

I'm sure some of you noticed no new chapter of Broken Boy went up Monday. So here's the deal.

I have two jobs and just finished a term with five classes. The past few weeks I've been in a state of near-constant panic trying to get everything done and keep up with four fics. For about a month now I've been writing the updates the day they're due to go up, and it's negatively impacting the quality and length of what I post, as well as being stressful enough to make me lose muse.

I'm not giving up on these fics. No way. But I am going to take two weeks off, counting from the missed update Monday. I'll be back on the 28th with a new chapter of How to Love a Broken Boy. Then Slippery As A... will be moving to Wednesdays now that Animal I Have Become is finished. Halfway House will stay on Saturdays until it finishes.

This note is being posted in all three currently-updating fics, and will be taken down Sunday, December 27, so that subscribers get their notification when new chapters start going up again.


	5. His lips taste sweet, and so does his sorrow. The bitterness comes later, when you don’t know how to untangle your sadness from his; when you clean his face from cuts and bruises and the remnants of battles you do not get to fight for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to leave up the author's note because I want to keep the supportive comments I got. Thank you to everyone who left one, they mean a lot.
> 
> This chapter contains triggers for self-harm and eating disorders. You've been warned.

“You look like shit,” Minho informed Newt as he stumbled through the door to their suite the next day.

“Not surprised,” Newt muttered. “Spent half the night throwing up.” Without another word he staggered to the bedroom to get changed.

Minho frowned, getting up from the couch and following him. “You eat too much?”

That was Minho. He’d known Newt longer than anyone but his family, knew more about him than anyone but Sonya. They’d been raised together, bathed together, gone to all the same classes. When someone else might have asked whether or not Newt had eaten something bad, Minho knew to ask if he’d eaten too much.

“Just half a plate,” he answered.

“Half a plate of real food?” Minho asked. “So the answer’s yes, you ate too much.”

Newt ignored him and started stripping out of the clothes he’d slept in. Minho kept pushing.

“Was that your idea, or his? He ask you to do it? ‘For him,’ maybe?”

“Shut up,” Newt snapped. “This isn’t his fault, all right? He didn’t know.”

“And I’m sure he’d be real happy to turn around and let you keep not eating if you explain,” Minho said. “Seriously, dude, why would you let him push you like that? You know your limits.”

Newt bit his lips together hard, grabbing a shirt and not saying anything.

“Go shower,” Minho said. “I'm gonna make you a smoothie.”

“I'm not hungry,” Newt said. 

“You effectively didn't eat yesterday,” Minho said. “Now I know he didn't feed you anything after you threw up, because who the hell would do that? Which means you need calories and protein. So go shower and I'll make you a damn smoothie. Yogurt and protein powder and everything.”

Newt sighed, shoulders slumping. He _ did _ need a shower. And Minho knew how to make a meal he could actually eat. “Fine,” he mumbled, and grabbed his things and went to shower. 

Minho knew better than most how Newt's appetite worked. When Newt sat down at the table of their suite’s little kitchen, Minho handed him a smoothie loaded with yogurt and sugar and protein powder and absolutely nothing that could be called a superfood. 

“You know it's not gonna work out, right?” Minho asked as Newt took a drink of the smoothie. 

“Yes, it will,” Newt muttered around the straw. 

“No, it won't,” Minho said flatly. “Because you only fall for two guys, the same two guys, over and over. Guy one, the guy who fucks you until you can't walk the next day but won't take care of you after. Guys like Ben. Those guys usually last a week. Guy two, the one who looks at you like you're the world but wants to fix you. Guys like Aris, or Alby. Those guys last a month, two, even six, while you make excuses for them and I warn you that they're not gonna stop until they turn you into someone you're not.”

“He just asked me to _ eat _ , Min,” Newt protested. 

“Exactly! He just asked you to eat. He _ didn't _ ask if you were hungry, or if you wanted to eat, or if it wasn't good or if you felt okay--he just asked you _ to eat _ . You really think that doesn't mean anything?”

“It doesn't mean he's trying to fix me!” Newt yelled. 

“That's _ exactly _ what it means!” Minho shouted back, getting to his feet. “It means he thinks something's wrong with you! If you really think he's only going to ask for that you're deluding yourself. He'll ask you to stop taking pills to sleep, or ask you to stop cutting--”

“I haven't done that in a year,” Newt objected. 

“Yeah, and whose idea was that?” Minho demanded. 

Newt looked down. 

“Yours,” Minho said. “Not Alby’s or Gally's or anyone else's. Because every time they asked you to, or God forbid _ told _ you to, you promised and then you relapsed in a week. You really think Thomas isn't gonna ask for that promise?”

Newt got to his feet and stormed out, straight to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Minho sank back into the chair, watching the half drunk smoothie, waiting for his roommate to return.

A minute passed. Two. Five in all before Newt called, “Min! It’s unlocked!”

Minho got to his feet, crossed the room and opened the door.

Newt had taken his shirt off for the purpose. Three bright red lines stood out stark on his hip. He met Minho’s gaze, his own level. “It’s not a relapse,” he said.

“Good,” Minho said just as evenly. “Because if it was a relapse, I’d have to tell Sonya, and she’d freak the fuck out.”

“It’s not,” Newt said again. “Just clean me up, all right?”

Minho nodded, motioning for Newt to sit down on the toilet. “Surprised you remembered,” he said. “What with you being a year clean.”

“I remember,” Newt said. He lifted his arm so Minho could wipe away the blood with an antiseptic wipe. He didn’t wince, too used to the pain. Minho glanced at his face before setting back to work.

Newt held perfectly still as Minho cleaned the wounds and smeared them with Neosporin and bandaged them. “It’s not a relapse,” he said again when Minho was packing up the first-aid kit.

“I know,” Minho said. “And I hope he proves me wrong.” He got to his feet, holding out a hand. “I don’t think he will. But I hope he does.”

~

The first half of the day had been with the girls from the shoot, and Thomas was starting to get used to the pattern, the effect the bright lights had on the models, the settings that pulled the most beauty from each of them. He didn’t have to worry about angles, at least; the models were trained to handle that themselves. It was their job to look good for the camera, and his job to make them look good on film.

Still. He missed photographing Newt. Only with his beautiful boy did it feel natural to use the camera like this, for fashion and beauty instead of articles or art. All the other times he was constantly reminding himself to use that filter instead of this one, or zoom this far instead of that far.

His beautiful boy. He’d called him that during sex, and now it was bleeding into his normal thoughts. Suddenly he wished Newt was there so he could pin him against the wall.

Just wait until lunch, he told himself. Newt would be there after lunch.

Finally it was time for the men--and Newt.

Thomas’s eyes found him the second he came through the elevator doors. For having been sick all last night, he looked good. Better than good. The urge to kiss him was overwhelming. Thomas glanced at his watch--technically it was still lunch. They had time.

~

Newt was going to warn Sonya about the cuts, he really was, but suddenly there were hands on his waist and a mouth on his neck.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Thomas murmured, slipping his hands under Newt’s shirt. “How was your morning?”

Newt couldn’t hold back a groan as he leaned back into Thomas. “Long, lazy--terribly boring, really.”

Thomas groaned into his ear. “God, your voice,” he whispered. “Almost as pretty as the rest of you.”

Newt laughed. “Zart will kill you if you fuck me in the hall,” he warned.

“Then let’s go somewhere more private,” Thomas suggested. His hand slipped further under Newt’s shirt to toy with one of his nipples.

“Tommy,” Newt whined, insides suddenly melting.

“Yes, beautiful?” Thomas murmured innocently. His fingers pinched, just enough.

“Fuck,” Newt hissed. “Bathroom. Now.”

“As you wish,” Thomas whispered, kissing his neck one last time.

~

Thomas would have liked to draw it out longer, would have liked to tease and torment, but they were on a deadline. Twenty minutes later Newt stumbled into the makeup room where Sonya was already waiting. Thomas, watching Newt with an unreasonable feeling of satisfaction, followed. 

“You boys have a good lunch break?” Sonya teased, not looking up from fixing her makeup kit and arranging the brushes she'd need for the afternoon. 

“Perfect,” Newt said. He still sounded fucked out, which made Thomas grin. 

Sonya made a disgusted noise. “No details, please.”

“Wasn't going to give you any,” Newt promised, already starting to strip down for Sonya to get him into his next design. 

“Good,” Sonya said. She frowned, looking at Newt's side. “What's that from?”

Thomas followed her gaze and frowned. He hadn't taken Newt's shirt off, hadn't seen the bandage. 

Newt met Sonya’s eyes and shook his head. “I'm fine. Don't worry about it.”

Sonya ghosted her fingers over the bandage. “Minho knows?”

Thomas's hackles went up at that. Newt's roommate? What did he know about the injury?

Newt nodded. 

Sonya sighed. “You love making my job harder, don't you?” she said lightly, picking up a compact and brush. “First hickeys, now a bloody bandage.”

Newt grinned innocently, and Sonya set to work. Somehow, with tricks of makeup, she erased the bandage from Newt's skin. Only when that was done did she turn her attention to his face. 

Thomas, for his part, sat quietly, watching. Newt had some kind of injury. Something Minho had to know about, something he should have told Sonya. 

It wasn't that someone had attacked him. That would have warranted a different response, and probably would have looked a lot worse. He couldn't think of any kind of accident that would have injured his side but not his hands or knees. Which left…

No. He wasn't going to think like that. Newt wasn't like that. 

But he didn't eat, either. 

A horrible knot of suspicion formed in Thomas's stomach, slowly tightening into certainty. 

He pushed the thought away. Even if it was true, they’d deal with it. He’d help Newt through it and Newt would be fine.

“I’m gonna go get set up,” he announced, getting to his feet and heading for the door.

He could feel Newt’s eyes burning into him every step of the way.

He got out his camera and fitted it to the tripod, adjusting the settings. “Zart?” he called. “You still want white for this part?”

“Yes, yes,” the designer said, striding in from who knew where. “One more day on the white. Then we have some fun, play with different settings. We’ll be in a different room for that, though. Don’t worry about it, editorial will handle the setup.”

Thomas looked over at him, studying him. Zart wore a black V-neck T-shirt, black skinny jeans, and clunky black boots, a bright purple scarf wrapped around his neck. It was identical to what he’d worn the day before, although yesterday the scarf had been blue.

“This the first time you’ve worked with Newt?” he asked.

Zart raised an eyebrow, though his were so light it was hard to tell. “Not at all. I’ve used him three years running. He’s quite the talent on film, isn’t he? Lovely. The camera loves him.” He smirked. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt when the man behind it loves him as well.”

Thomas snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure it doesn’t.”

“Now if you could apply that considerable talent to the other eleven models involved in this shoot,” Zart said dryly. “Don’t think I haven’t seen in the proofs that you’re not giving your all to all the models equally.”

Thomas grimaced. “This is--I’m not used to shooting like this.”

“Well, get used to it,” Zart said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re a talent, and you’ve tied our best and brightest to you, so you’d better figure it out. I’ll be back in ten, I’ve got to do final fittings for our mutually beloved Englishman.”

Thomas watched him saunter away. Zart could have been the one wearing the clothes, if he’d wanted. One day Thomas would have to ask the story behind why he didn’t.

Meantime, though, he needed to get his head on straight. He couldn’t do the shoot like this.

Ten minutes passed while he fiddled with the settings on the camera and tried to figure out how to break the subject of what had happened to Newt.

It hadn’t been a surprise to Sonya. Well, the bandages had. This instance of it had. But the overall cause of those cuts was something she knew. That more than anything told him exactly what had happened.

“Ready for this?”

Thomas turned to face the source of that familiar voice. He started to smile, then swallowed hard when he saw that Newt was shirtless

Sonya had done something with contouring powder to make his abs more noticeable than normal and blend in the ribs that stuck out too far, but it was still the same Newt, wearing an artistically cropped vest and shiny black pants that clung to his jutting hipbones. Zart followed, watching his ass with a critical eye.

“Right,” the designer said, clapping his hands together. “Sonya’s fetching the rest of our boys, but we’ll start with Newt.”

Newt grinned at Thomas. “Right, Tommy,” he said. “Are you ready, or do you need a minute to adjust?”

Thomas shook his head, smiling. “Get that pretty ass in front of the camera,” he ordered.

Newt laughed and obeyed, moving with a teasing sway of his hips that made Thomas wish they were off the clock.

“Like what you see?” Newt asked innocently.

Thomas shook his head. “I’m getting back at you for that,” he informed him, adjusting the camera. “As soon as I take you home.”

“Promises, promises,” Newt teased him, and dragged a hand through his hair as Thomas snapped the first picture.

~

Thomas hadn’t said anything about the bandages. Not when he saw them in the studio, not when Sonya cleaned off the makeup and replaced the bandages, not in the cab on the way back to his flat. Newt’s hands were itching to pick up his phone and call Minho and tell him he’d been wrong. Thomas  _ could _ handle him.

Thomas closed the door behind them as they went into the flat, curling an arm around Newt’s waist and pulling him close.

“I told you I’d get you back for that swagger,” he whispered in Newt’s ear. One hand snuck down to palm him through his jeans, and Newt groaned aloud.

“You did, yes,” he managed to say. “What were you thinking?”

Thomas hummed thoughtfully, still stroking Newt. After another minute he thumbed Newt’s fly open and slipped his hand in, fingers ghosting against bare skin.

Newt gasped, and Thomas chuckled in his ear. “God, the things I want to do to you,” he murmured. “I’m going to make you ruin your jeans.”

“I d-don’t have anything else to walk home in,” Newt stammered, swallowing as Thomas wrapped his hand around him.

“I know,” Thomas said, and sucked his earlobe into his mouth. “But you’d let me do it anyway, wouldn’t you, my beautiful boy?”

He’d missed hearing that name so much the sound of it almost made him come. “Fuck,” he whimpered.

Thomas laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he whispered, and started to stroke Newt, insistent and fast.

It didn’t take long, not when Newt could feel Thomas’s erection pressed against his arse, not when his free hand was stroking the lines of Newt’s ribs.

“Gorgeous,” Thomas whispered when Newt came. Without a word he lifted his hand to Newt’s lips. Obediently, Newt sucked his fingers into his mouth, licking each of them clean.

“Stunning,” Thomas said. “Absolutely breathtaking.” He left his fingers in Newt’s mouth, let him keep sucking for a long minute.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About last night, and how you got sick.”

Newt’s heart skipped a beat.  _ He’s going to try to fix you, _ Minho’s voice said in his head.

“I’ve been thinking about how you can drink come so easily,” Thomas said, “but can’t seem to eat. And I think I’ve found a solution.”

Newt made a questioning hum around Thomas’s fingers.

“Go stand by the table,” Thomas said, squeezing his hip. “I’ll be right there.”

Wary but curious, Newt did as ordered. He perched on the edge of the table, watching as Thomas fished a carton of raspberries and a bunch of grapes out of the fridge. He crossed to the table, sitting down and setting both in front of him. Then he looked at Newt and patted his lap. “Straddle me.”

Newt obeyed, trying to figure out where Thomas was going with this.

Thomas kissed him, gentle and sweet. Newt relaxed, just a bit, as he returned it. Then Thomas pulled back, plucked a grape from the bunch, popped it in his mouth, and kissed Newt again.

This kiss was deeper. Thomas swept his tongue into Newt’s mouth, then again, this time pushing the grape with it. Newt swallowed nervously, but chewed the grape as Thomas sucked his lower lip into his mouth and nibbled on it. He swallowed just as Thomas pulled back.

“Is this better?” Thomas asked, brushing Newt’s hair back from his face. “Can you eat like this?”

_ He’s going to try to fix you. _

_ Shut up, _ Newt said, and nodded.

This time Thomas fed him a raspberry. Somehow the juices tasted better when Thomas was biting his lip.

“Still okay?” Thomas asked.

Newt nodded again.

Piece by piece Thomas fed him, asking each time if Newt was all right. Each time, Newt nodded, let him feed him another piece, until the bunch of grapes was gone and the carton of raspberries was half empty. Then Thomas stopped kissing his mouth and started kissing down his neck, to his shoulder.

“Take off your shirt,” he ordered, barely above a breath. Newt obeyed, forgetting to be wary.

Thomas leaned back in his seat and ran his fingers over the bandage. “Let me see?” he asked quietly.

Newt’s heart skipped a beat, but he nodded. This was why he’d done it, after all.

_ He’s going to try to fix you. _

If Minho was right, Thomas would try to elicit a promise from him never to do it again.

If he was wrong, Thomas would kiss him and tell him he loved him.

Thomas peeled the bandage off. The cuts had stopped bleeding and started scabbing over; Newt had been careful not to cut too deep. Thomas frowned slightly as he ran his fingers over them.

“Did you do these?” he asked quietly.

Heart in his throat, Newt nodded.

Thomas bit his lip, then kissed the hollow of Newt’s throat. “I love you,” he whispered.

For a minute, Newt relaxed.

Then Thomas whispered, “Please don’t do this again.”


	6. Author's note, again

I hate to do this, I really do. I've put so much effort into keeping up with all these fics and getting them all ready. It's just not working. I work retail, so the holidays have been super stressful. I have two (hopefully soon to be three) jobs and as of January 11 will be back in classes full-time. On top of all that I'm trying to keep up an art blog and finish editing an original novel for publication. I hate to disappoint, but I need a longer break.

I'm taking January off from updates on all three fics--Broken Boy, Slippery, and Halfway House. My goal is to finish all three this month, so that I can stop stressing about them and just post them. (Yes, for those who don't know by now, I don't finish fics before I start posting. Frequently I write them the day they go up, which is why Ribs had two chapters go up late.) I'm also hoping to get at least halfway through a couple fics I haven't started posting--a new Gallewt, a sequel to Ribs, and a sequel to Built to Fall Apart--along with plotting several projects bigger than BTFA. You see how much I'm trying to do at once now, and why it's all falling to pieces around me.

These fics will all resume updating at the end of January or when I finish writing them, whichever comes first.

The 12 Days of Christmas will continue updating (theoretically) once a day until January 6, Epiphany. Because that's when the Christmas season ends and the fic officially becomes out of date. And because those chapters are so short I can write three in a day if I work at it.

**Author's Note:**

> I think it's fair to give everyone a heads-up. I have no intention of completing this fic. My interpretation of Newt has changed enough that I couldn't write the ending I had in mind with him, and I don't want to disappoint people with a different one. So this fic is over.


End file.
